Circumstances have made me thoughtful lately.
My grandson’s premature birth, my daughter’s wedding and our personal season of unwelcome milestones have reminded me that life is short.
And then a Facebook friend shared this meme:
My heart cried, “Yes!”
It’s so, so true.
What we will value most in our vulnerable moments and in our last moments won’t be anything we bought at a store (or online).
It will be relationships.
The people we love and who love us are the true treasure of a life well-lived.
They are priceless.
“The worst conceivable thing has happened, and it has been mended…All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ~Julian of Norwich
I’m not sure when I first read this quote, but it came to my mind that awful morning. And I played it over and over in my head, reassuring my broken heart that indeed, the worst had already happened, and been mended.
Death had died.
Christ was risen-the firstfruits of many brethren.
Read the rest here: Resurrection: Reality and Reassurance
I have never been a crystal and china kind of gal.
I got a few special pieces when my husband and I married, but most of the things in my home are durable and useful.
So I don’t have many things tucked away for special occasions.
I’m glad that when my kids were young we made even ordinary days special by setting the table, using candles, cloth napkins, real plates and mugs for meals.
We foolish mortals sometimes live through years not realizing how short life is, and that TODAY is your life.
I’m especially thankful this side of child loss that our memories include making many regular days wonderful by choosing to celebrate the smallest moments.
I have an inexpensive set of Chinese plates, soup bowls and porcelain spoons I bought from a mail order catalog way before the Internet, much less Amazon. It gave my homemade sweet and sour chicken an air of authenticity (and it was fun!).
When December rolled around, we ditched our everyday plates for Christmas ones we used for meals and festive coffee mugs that held everything from morning coffee to the evening’s soft drinks, tea and hot cocoa.
Birthdays, holidays and regular days were all reasons to make merry and make memories.
I’m so glad we didn’t set things aside because they were too dear for everyday use.
Life IS a gift.
Since I’m spending time with my new grandson, I’ll be offering a few more reposts than usual this week. If you haven’t seen them, I hope you enjoy them for the first time. If you have already read them, I hope they are a blessing just the same.
Thank you for all the prayers and encouragement as our family rallies around this new life and helps him fight to gain the strength and size to come home. ❤
Part of my Lenten observance includes reading the book of John.
The words are not new to me, I’ve read them over and over-probably dozens of times in the past 30 years. So I decided to use a different translation this time around in order to shake out some new insights and cause me to pay closer attention to what God might have for me right here, right now.
The very first reading did just that.
Read the rest here: Light Years
A friend recently posted that not all the lessons of grief are bitter.
Some are sweet.
I’ve learned a lot on this journey. And one of the sweet things I’ve learned is that the best thing to offer fellow travelers is a bit of my heart instead of a piece of my mind.
We all have pet causes, pet peeves and personal opinions. Social media makes it oh, so easy to promote them.
But too often one person’s post leads to another person’s comment which leads to snarky remarks, replies and reactions. Pretty soon what began as an exercise in free speech devolves into a free-for-all. The only thing stopping physical blows is the distance between keyboards across the Internet.
I don’t have to make a point every time I make a comment.
I can simply scroll past that tasteless meme or sarcastic political post.
Life’s too short to be offended over every. little. thing.
I’ve written many times about the fact that my heart still holds all the love it ever did for ALL my children-even the one who no longer walks beside me here on earth.
That’s one of the reasons I will never stop speaking of him-just as I never stop speaking of my living children.
It’s also why I cling tenaciously to the lesson I am learning this side of child loss: Love lives.
It lives in me, through me and is waiting for me in Heaven.
I ran across this lovely poem just recently.
I hope you like it as much as I do.
By Merrit Malloy
When I die
Give what’s left of me away
And old me that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
And give them
What you need to give to me.
I want to leave you something,
Look for me
In the people I’ve known
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on in your eyes
And not your mind.
You can love me most
Hands touch hands,
By letting bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
That need to be free.
Love doesn’t die,
So, when all that’s left of me
Give me away.
It’s a lesson you never forget once you’ve learned it.
It’s lesson you never learn unless you have to.
The destruction of property-even every single thing you own on this earth-is awful, frightening and life-changing.
But it’s still LIFE.
My parents were caught in the fury that was Hurricane Michael. They were miles inland, a community that had never seen anything like this in four generations that had lived in the house where they rode out the storm.
Their property and home took a hit, but they are OK.
And for this mama with one son in heaven and one deployed half-way around the world, that’s ALL THAT MATTERS.
We can rebuild a house. We can buy more stuff.
But I can’t replace the people I love.
Life and Death.
I know that lesson well.